The Heart of the Revolution
by DreamaLirit
Summary: Enjorlas, so busy running a revolution, finds himself falling for the girl already in love, Eponine. Can she come to love him, the marble man of the barricade, and could love flourish during such upheaval?


Enjorlas was not a man of romance. Passion, yes, excitement, yes, intelligence and more, yes, but romance was not a quality he displayed often. You see the marble man of the revolution had only one mistress, Patria, which required little romantic capabilities from the young man.

He poured his lifeblood into the revolution, blood, sweat, and tears along with sleepless nights and hungry days. Of course most days, or at least several hours of most days were spent at university, writing essays and reading Voltaire, Rousseau, and Montesquieu. All of this was done to increase knowledge, which would therefore increase power and influence in this twisted world.

Despite living the life of a student, Enjorlas had only one real desire, and that was to lead a successful revolution. To lead the people out of the dust and grime of poverty and into the shining world of plenty—plenty of food, soap, schooling, and anything they desired. They desired freedom, equality, and brotherhood with all people, which was what Enjorlas was working so tirelessly to give each and every one of them.

Today was a political rally, and afterward would be a meeting of Les Amis de l'ABC, and he intended to pour the recent heat of his soul into both the rally and the meeting. They would listen as they always did, and with any luck they would absorb it and fight for their own cause.

Marius and he mounted the platform they had erected outside of where General Lamarque lay so ill, and for the next half hour gave loud, enthralling speeches. Pamphlets were distributed as people shouted their assent with Les Amis and their discontent with the government and bureaucracy.

When the police came as they always did everyone scattered, shouting directions and warnings as they disappeared into buildings and down secret alleyways.

Down an alley flew some of Les Amis until they found themselves at their café, their headquarters, and so the meeting began. Or it began after everyone was counted to assure none had been arrested, breath slowed along with heartbeats, and drinks were poured all around.

It was then that Eponine, who had been at the rally and fled with the rest, noticed that Marius was not at the café. She had lost track of him in the crowd, in the shoving of thin bodies away from police horses, but had thought he would surely be here with the rest. She grew frantic.

She did not know Enjorlas, but she knew he was in charge of the group and could help her find her love. Her tattered dress was out of place among all the crisp university students, but Marius was worth her embarrassment, was worth everything! So she shyly approached the loud, charismatic leader of the revolution.

"I don't see Marius Pontmercy," she murmured to him, her dark eyes trained on the floor. He glanced at her, furrowed his brow and scanned the crowd again, just to be sure.

"He could be at his flat; it's close to Lamarque's place. Don't worry, we'll check on the spoiled lad later, though the police wouldn't dare keep him thanks to who his grand-père is." She nodded slowly, not wanting to argue or insist they check now to see if he was wounded or missing. She would have left then, but he spoke to her.

"And how does Marius know a mademoiselle like you?" He quirked one eyebrow and she curled her mouth in, reluctant to answer.

"We met on the streets. I suppose we don't know each other very well. But he watches out for me and I try to do the same for him" The young gentleman nodded.

"Well stay and have a drink then, he's sure to show up for the meeting sometime." The girl fell into the closest chair and accepted a cup.

That had been a lie. Many a time had Marius skipped a meeting for various occasions, both known and unknown, but Enjorlas was trying to convert as many as he could, and that had seemed the best thing to say to make her stay.

The meeting began, sans Marius, and when the talking was over and they set to work on new pamphlets, there was still no sight of him. Eponine, who had sat so patiently surrounded by men lusting for change, was growing increasingly vexed.

But Enjorlas was working when she went to mention, again, that Marius was missing. For hours she paced the café, bawdy laughter and hope thick in the air until Enjorlas rose and mentioned they could leave if they like.

As the men and boys filtered out into the cobbled, moonlit streets of Paris, Eponine made a beeline for their leader. He had just turned, sensing her there, when she slapped him across the mouth.

"You don't even care, do you?! That one of your men could be wounded, dying for all you know, or being tortured in prison. How dare you not even go to look—" He gripped her arm and steered her toward the door, jaw working and eyes blazing.

"I won't stand to have a woman curse me once I've been kind to her. Get. Out" And he threw her onto the cobblestones outside of the café.

Immediately a horse reared, and before the shocked and horrified eyes of the remaining members of Les Amis, hooves rained down on the innocent girl. A short scream drifted through the air until she was knocked unconscious, the horse and rider darted away, and Les Amis darted into action.

Enjorlas, so quick to cruelty before, lifted her gently into his arms and rushed her upstairs, placing her on a palate in one of the spare upper rooms. She moaned softly and he sent Gavroche for Marius, who could afford a doctor. Her dress clung to her in tatters, black and thin with age, blood, sweat, and grime.

Marius brought the doctor, who shooed everyone out of the room except Enjorlas, whom he pecked with questions. Who was the girl, what had happened, why, where did she live, and so on. The doctor stripped her to the skin to examine her for damage from the hoof prints. Enjorlas turned his back and swallowed thickly before offering whatever answers he could.

Finally, redressed and comfortable but still out, he gave his diagnosis. A broken thigh bone and rib, swollen stomach and black eye, but surprisingly in good shape for being trampled by a horse. Marius paid the man, glanced at the broken, raven-haired girl, and left.


End file.
